


Over The Edge And Falling

by catteo



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-17
Updated: 2012-12-17
Packaged: 2017-11-21 08:50:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/595811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catteo/pseuds/catteo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So this is apparently what happens when a show takes things in a direction other than what I want. I get as far as the start of episode 104 and then go wildly AU. So this is the version of <i>Act of Contrition</i> where Commander Adama doesn’t come to find his two favourite kids, Flat Top doesn’t die, and that helmet with the 1000 lovingly drawn on it doesn’t quite get to him in a timely fashion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over The Edge And Falling

He’s slowly dragged towards consciousness by warm breath tickling his neck and the sound of someone whispering his name. He clings to the hope that he’s dreaming and draws his blanket tighter around himself.

 

“Lee. Lee-eeee,” Kara’s voice singsongs his name, louder with each repetition. Lee does his best to ignore her, prays that she’ll simply let him sleep, desperate for just five more minutes. But she’s never been one to wait patiently for attention and he’s suddenly aware of her licking a broad stripe up the side of his neck, and an even warmer palm sliding down his side. 

 

“What the _frak_ , Starbuck?” He’s fully awake now, some parts of him possibly more than appropriate, given that the hatch is wide open to the corridor beyond. 

 

He’d almost forgotten how her face lights up when she laughs, an infectious peal that has his lips twitching. She throws her head back with abandon as though she hasn’t a care in the world. It strikes him suddenly that, in the midst of all this death, he’s never seen her look more alive. 

 

“C’mon Lee, it’s Flat Top’s thousandth landing. You can’t be sleeping the day away, lots to do!” She’s abrasively cheerful and he scrubs his hand over his eyes, shakes his head to clear away the last of the sleep, grateful that she’s busying herself hunting through lockers. Lee finally manages to haul himself to upright as Kara throws his tracksuit at his head. 

 

“You should probably dress. Can’t have the CAG wandering about half naked,” she wiggles her eyebrows at him suggestively, “Nuggets might get distracted.”

 

“Funny,” blue eyes lock on brown as he inches soft cotton up over his hips, “You sure _you’re_ not the one getting distracted?” He has no idea what’s gotten into him, but he can still feel her tongue on his neck and it burns as surely as a brand as he takes a step towards her. 

 

“No, sir,” and he can never quite fathom how it is that when she says those words he feels anything _but_ in control. Lee figures that it probably has something to do with the way she leans in close enough that she’s breathing his air. She smells like cigars and engine grease and something else that he’s never quite been able to place, something uniquely Kara, and it assaults his senses like a punch to the gut.

 

She grins wide, eyes sparkling as she spins away across the room, always just out of his reach. He drags his sweatshirt over his head, uses its camouflage to suck in a shuddering breath, but he can still taste her in the air. He feels as though he’s trying to move through liquid molasses. Kara’s voice is a constant in his ears, a steady stream of consciousness punctuated with laughter.

 

Kara orders him off in search of red paint and he seizes the opportunity; somehow manages to ignore the challenge he hears in her voice. Lee walks corridors he knows by heart until he’s sure he’s alone, leans against the cold metal bulwark and tries to steady his heartbeat in time with the pulse of the ship. It’s a futile gesture though, because he can still feel Kara under his skin, energy crackling along synapses and nerves, fire in his bones. 

 

He pushes past a sea of anonymous faces on his way back to quarters, responds to voices raised in greeting with a distracted smile. Lee grips the tin of paint in his hand, a reassuring weight. Kara’s whistling as he walks in, a tuneless series of notes that increases in volume the second she sees him. He offers up the paint for inspection and slams the hatch behind him.

 

“Hail the conquering hero!” she cheers his triumphant return with fists raised. “Brush?”

 

“Fingers,” he shrugs at her. “I had to barter a frakking bottle of Ambrosia for the paint. I’d probably have had to give up a limb for a brush to go with it.”

 

“And you figured Flat Top wasn’t worth the sacrifice? He’ll be crushed.”

 

But the lid’s off and Kara’s enthusiastically anointing a helmet with numbers almost before she finishes talking. Lee busies himself hunting for something to make a suitable sash. A finger appears on the edge of his vision and before he can register what she’s doing, Kara paints a long stripe of red down his forearm. Lee looks up to see her shaking with barely suppressed laughter, lips squeezed tight against each other, and he can feel it at his core, a white hot tongue of _want_ that ignites to a blaze. 

 

Red zeros blur together and the paint’s slick on the palm of his hand as he pushes her handiwork to the floor. He knows there are about a million reasons why this is a bad idea, but right now he can’t think of any as his hand closes around her arm, pulls her firmly up against him. He can see her swallow hard; feel the flutter of her pulse accelerate under his fingers, a counterpoint to his own.

 

“You really shouldn’t have done that Kara,” his mouth’s so dry that he can barely get the words out. He thinks he’s never been so aware of another person in his life, electricity sparking at every point of contact.

 

“Oh yeah? What you gonna do about it?” Kara somehow manages to inch herself closer towards him, eliminating any remaining space, hips, stomach, chest pushed tight to his. Her pupils are blown, their faces almost touching, and he knows he must look a wreck. Her skin feels like fire under his hands and somehow he closes the gap between them.

 

Her mouth is nothing like he expected, somehow softer, more pliant, but suddenly her tongue is snaking around his, her fingers fisting in his hair, leaving him gasping. He can feel her hands at his waist, cool against his back, as she slides his tanks off, strips her own in seconds. He fastens his mouth to the pulse at her jaw, and the shock that jolts through him at her groan almost finishes him. She pushes him away against hard metal, but he barely has time to register the loss of contact before she’s back with the slightest scratch of a fingernail at his hip, tongue snaking down his chest and stomach along with the rest of her, until he’s naked before her. 

 

Kara’s hair stands out at impossible angles, cheeks flushed, her eyes the darkest he’s ever seen them as she pulls away, looks straight at him. His stomach suddenly knots, sure that he’s totally frakked this up as she takes a step backwards. He takes a shuddering breath, prepares himself to fight for this, for them, but her hands are working at her belt, and she gives him a sudden smile that warms him like the summer days he barely remembers.

 

“Excellent tactics, Captain,” she salutes him, before hooking her thumbs into her waistband and sliding her underwear to the floor.

 

“Kara,” it comes out as more of a groan than he’d intended as he reaches for her hip, pulls her close towards him. The red print of his hand has dried on her upper arm but he can’t find the words to explain that he wants it there forever, tattooed on her skin, the way she lives under his. But she’s always had a way of reading him, and her hands cup his face as she kisses him, soft, more carefully than before. 

 

Lee snakes a hand down her body and she gasps as his thumb brushes across a nipple. He slowly licks along the curve of her breast as his fingers slide downwards and Kara arches against him as his teeth bite gently down. She’s slick between her thighs, gasps his name as he crooks his fingers and pushes up into her. He can feel her fingers clench on his shoulders hard enough to leave a mark, indelible proof, as if it were needed, that he belongs to her.

 

“Frak, Lee, _please_ …” she crushes her mouth to his, one thigh hitching up and wrapping against his hip, pulling them closer. She spirals a hand around his cock, her thumb brushing across the tip and it takes every ounce of his willpower keep breathing. He’s got one hand on her ass and the other at the small of her back as he picks her up and perches her on the edge of the table. She shifts her legs wider and grabs at him, pulling him closer, uses a hand to guide him inside her. 

 

Lee breaths a shuddering exhale as he buries himself as deep as he can, drops a head to her shoulder as she keens his name. He pauses, doesn’t trust himself to move, but then she’s clutching at his ass, murmuring a stream of syllables and vowels in his ears and words like _harder_ and _faster_ and _now_ , and his heartbeat is pounding in his head and he’s thrusting up into her deeper with every stroke. Suddenly she’s tightening around him, doesn’t say a word, but her eyes flash open and it’s all he can do not to break at the honesty he sees. But then he falls apart anyway and her arms are the only things that keep his pieces together.

 

He looks up to find her grinning at him, lips swollen, her palms raised towards him dripping paint, the forgotten tin lying on its side, contents dripping slowly on the floor. Kara reaches out and smears both hands down his chest, lets out a languid laugh.

 

“Now we’re even,” she winks, “Race you to the showers.”


End file.
